


The King

by Vivian_Oxford



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Beauty Within, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Exophilia, F/M, Fantasy, Folklore, Monsters, Wings, ancient creatures, caged, kings - Freeform, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian_Oxford/pseuds/Vivian_Oxford
Summary: A short piece of fiction for those with imagination, who yearn for the dark things that walk in the night and believe in love with no boundaries.  A story of cages, dust, feathers, and folklore.  And of course, the King.





	The King

Pale fingers traced tenderly down cool metal bars.  A treasure hidden behind them, tucked away from the warmth of the sun and the sanctuary of skies.  Kept in this dark place where dust settled and the strange and uncanny were collected and placed halfheartedly on hooks and shelves.  A place where time seemed slow, ancient things slept, and the rain failed to cease its pitter-patter from somewhere up above. This place, full of trinkets and trash, oddities and marvels…this is where she waited.

 

Soft white feathers, delicate and impossibly untouched by the grime.  Blue eyes, dulled only by the sorrow of a broken creature awaiting a rescue that would not come.  Gentle blonde waves, cascading around a small frame that seemed so out of place in a cage of rusted metal and peeling red paint.  Her lips parted, a flush of pink across them, as she watched shadow after shadow pass by the dirty windows.  People coming and going, scurrying about in the alleys outside with not a single thought to spare for the shop that nearly bled into the walls, its splendor long lost as the ages took their toll.  A storefront unwelcoming to kind hearts or valiant knights, angels clad in silver or masked crusaders in crimson cloaks.  A place empty but for those scraped from the streets, dealing in dark things and unspeakable offenses.  The occasional visitor and coins passed from hand to dirty hand.  Smirks and snickers and stares.  Sometimes a witch.  Sometimes a demon.

 

The creak of a door.  Her head rose, looking out across the room to where she could almost feel the breeze of cold night air as a passing shadow dared to brave the darkness within the ramshackle establishment.  Lit only by a few stray candles, the shop did not offer much light to reveal its new patron.  From her place, caged and chained, she could only make out a massive set of horns.  She listened.

 

Hushed voices as the keep greeted his guest.  Welcoming a monster in to see his wares.  A masculine grunt of dismissal and the swish of fabric as the customer in this special little hell began to survey the stock.  She could see his shape from over the top of a pile of books and baubles, clad in a coat of ebony furs and taller than any man she had seen before.  His horns were like antlers, though black and dotted with what could only be ruby gemstones.  Rubies that glinted and flickered in the firelight, identical to the eyes of he who bore them.  His eyes pierced through the room, finding her as if he had been searching for the gorgeous azure stare that met his own for centuries.  He was silent, unmoving at that moment.  Behind her, her wings unfurled. 

 

He was a beast made up of folklore and fairy tales, nightmares and daydreams.  His face was almost canine, but could never be called such as there surely existed no other creature like him.  And as he approached her, winding his way through tables caked in years of neglect and cobwebs that stretched from floor to ceiling, she did not back away. And then he stood before her, a hint of violet glittering oddly in a scarlet gaze not meant for this world. 

 

No timidity.  No fear.  Her hand slid through the bars of her prison and came to rest at the side of his great maw, the pad of her thumb brushing gently across dark fur and small thorn-like horns.  She could feel his breath, warm and sweet-scented, as he exhaled and pressed his face into her touch.  No words were exchanged.  She simply lay her forehead against the wicked metal before her, and in turn felt his brow meet her own as his antlers rattled out a haunting melody against the steel between them.

 

They were approached.  Words were muttered.  Then words were shouted.  Words that ended in a dead shopkeep, his cruelty and greed drying in pools of blood around his head on a floor he had never swept.  She did not look at him.  Her eyes were on a great king of night, forests, and stars.  A king of darkness, time, and seasons.  A king that ruled death, who kissed the bars dividing them and shattered them like glass.  A king that freed her from her chains and took her into his arms, claws curling protectively around her tiny figure while he walked toward the door, careful to tuck her wings against his mighty chest.  A king and a monster, whom had owned her heart from the moment they met so many years ago. 

 

Her pale fingers traced tenderly down his primitive, beautiful horns.  A treasure hidden in a beast’s skin.  He stepped through the doorway into a warm sunrise, an angel safe in the sanctuary of his embrace.


End file.
